


Ceremony

by newsonthemoon



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, F/M, First Meetings, Orgy, Peer Pressure, Religious Fanaticism, Ritual Sex, Satanism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 13:40:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14749922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newsonthemoon/pseuds/newsonthemoon
Summary: Long before she took on the title of Imperator, Lavinia was only another member of the Church, one in a sea of hundreds. She shared the same beliefs, the same home, and, as was the case on this night, the same duty.The ritual represented unbridled debauchery, the type of pleasure that humans had no reason to deny themselves. To participate was an honor. To refuse was unheard of, and she was as aware as anyone else of the importance of attending.It was during this night when she first met Mariano.





	Ceremony

**Author's Note:**

> Like my previous fic, this work contains material that may be uncomfortable for some people. Specifically, it deals with how a character (Sister Imperator) feels pressured to participate in an orgy. The subsequent sexual encounter, while consensual between both individuals, is deliberately (and explicitly) described to be as detached and awkward as possible. If that sounds like it would be too much for you, please feel free to skip this fic.

The group trudged through the dark, shivering under their tunics. The hallway was long, and its stone walls were damp to the touch. Now, in the dead of winter, they were used to having sconces to guide them, lit and maintained when the sun set each afternoon. But tonight, light was kept sparse, restricted to a single candle every few meters, enough to keep them pointed in the right direction. In this light, too, the Sisters could see their breaths, released as puffs of fog, barely visible. The cold made it easy to tell who was breathing easily, and who was holding their breath.

“If any of you would like to turn back, you may do so now,” the eldest Sister said, glancing at them over her shoulder. 

Some of the group exchanged glances, daring each other to leave. When no one did, their guide spoke again, as they approached the door to the atrium.

“Now, remember that tonight isn't solely for pleasure,” she said. “Our Dark Lord is all around us tonight. Keep Him in your thoughts.” They bowed their heads, keeping their eyes lowered in silent prayer. Once they’d crossed themselves--hands gliding over heart, head, right, then left shoulder--they were permitted to enter the sacred space. The eldest sister pulled open the door, shutting it behind her once all had shuffled in.

The group dispersed once they were inside, some shedding their habits immediately. Their rapturous laughs filled the air, mingling with the pleasured cries and heavy breaths. When Lavinia lifted her gaze, she saw there were others like her, lingering back, scanning the room for a partner. She twisted the cuff of her sleeve in one hand, rolling the heavy twill between her fingertips as she backed herself up to the wall.

Beneath the windowed ceiling, in the light of the candelabras, was a mass of writhing bodies. Some were piled atop one another, rutting and panting and clawing. Others stood, pressing themselves or others against the wall. Her eyes lingered for a moment too long on one woman, leaning back as she was fucked in someone’s lap. As he thrusted into her, gripping into her hips, she cried out in pleasure or pain or both. The woman’s eyes rolled back into her skulls, and from across the room her eyes met with Lavinia's. It sent Lavinia lurching a step backward, pressing herself back against the door. 

Her forced neutral expression had faded, she knew. Her heart beat rapidly as one hand went behind her, searching for the door handle. She’d seen enough, this time and the last. Tangled limbs and bruised skin as they touched and grabbed and fucked. Next time, she told herself, next time she would be able to join.

Her other hand raised, as it often did, to touch the grucifix around her neck.

She stopped.

She’d held it between her fingertips enough that the silver paint had started to fade away at the center. She withdrew her hand from the door, letting it fall to her side. She remembered how quickly she’d fled the room during the last ritual, and the quiet disappointment in the Mother Superior’s voice when she’s learned what she’d done.

“We know you've had others before—both men and women. Why is this different?” Mother Lucrezia asked gently. Lavinia had only just begun to speak when her response was cut off.

“You know we aren’t going to force you,” she said sternly. “But I want you to consider what you cherish more than our Father.”

“I don’t cherish anything more than Him,” Lavinia said, head snapping up.

“Then why reject the freedom He has granted us?” she asked. “This is how we honor Him, Lavinia.”

“I know.” She shut her eyes.

“You shouldn’t be afraid, then. This isn’t punishment. This is pleasure.”

Lavinia only nodded her reply. Lucrezia’s voice was soothing, and her words rang in her ears for hours afterward.

No one would force her. Her decision was between her and her Lord.

There was a chill down her legs. Lavinia looked up to see a hand lifting the hem of her skirt.

“Why are you standing here alone?” a voice said. She could almost hear his growing smile as he spoke, moving to slide his hand higher up.

She snatched her skirt away without facing him. Lavinia turned, rushing towards the other end of the room. She settled into the corner furthest from the door, lingering there, thinking of nothing, of anything else. The wall panels, the number of candles in the room, the exits, the rough twill rubbing against her skin, her tunic, her cincture, her bare feet on the floor.

Lavinia shuddered. The twill did little to protect her from the cold.

She swallowed hard, and her hands went to lift her veil away, letting it fall to the ground. There was no point in delaying it. Her fingertips ran through her hair, and trailed down her neck, sending little sensations down her shoulders. Her tongue ran across her lips as her hands next went to her chest. She cupped her breasts, but felt nothing, the fabric thick enough to dull any sensation. In her own room, beneath her own sheets, she could have let her hands roam under her dress. She could do the same here, this was no different, she thought, and repeated to herself.

Lavinia went down to her knees, lying first on her side, and then reclining onto her back. She could find no one here to focus on, and instead focused on the night sky, pretending she had only herself for company. Her lips drew into a tight line. Her fingertips felt rough as they rubbed against her center. She focused on her clitoris, drawing out an almost inaudible whimper. She’d done this hundreds of times before, she reminded herself.

Before she had even made herself slick, a set of footsteps approached. They were slow and cautious, as was the greeting that followed.

“Evening,” he said.

Lavinia exhaled, and sat up. She nodded once in acknowledgment. He crouched next to her, gesturing.

“Would you like..?”

So it would be him, then.

She nodded again.

Lavinia made no move, only glancing up once at him. He was young, maybe a year or two within her age, she thought. Not unattractive. He wore no cassock, only a high necked shirt, the same one the other novitiates wore. As his hands fumbled to unbutton it, his eyes seemed to wander, focusing on anything but her.

“I’m Mariano.”

“I didn’t ask,” she said.

He looked up, then smiled, snorting. He slid his shirt over his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground, and went next to undo his belt.

“What can I call you?”

“Lavinia,” she said.

“Oh, like the saint. Beautiful name.” He glanced over at her discarded veil, stark against the black marble floor.

“White,” he said. “Preparing to take your final vows?”

She didn’t respond, his voice barely registering. Lavinia laid back again, staring up to watch the sky.

Fabric rustled, a zipper opened, skin on skin. She realized he was palming himself to her.

“Why don’t you take all of this off?” he said, voice low.

Her eyes darted off to the side, towards the other participants. Her arms unconsciously folding across her chest, covering herself. “I’m fine, thank you,” she said, voice flat.

“No need to be shy,” he said, as if sharing a joke between them. “You’re--”

“I’m fine,” she repeated, more sharply.

He quieted, then apologized. For a few more moments, there was only the sound of his breathing, growing deeper and heavier. Finally, he shifted closer to her, gesturing towards her skirt. “May I?”

She looked up at him, brow lowered, and nodded. Slowly, her hands went to untie her belt, loosening her tunic around her waist. He crawled over her, propping himself above her on his elbows. As he positioned himself, she could feel his half-hard cock through his trousers, pressing against her leg.

His hand slid under her skirt, clumsily searching for something to grab on to. His fingers were cold and callused. His hand settled on her ribs, under her arm, then moved to her breast. She flinched as his thumb passed over her nipple.

“Nothing underneath?” he said, a smile slowly spreading across his face.

“I was told not to wear anything but my habit,” she said.

He said nothing after that. His other hand went between her legs.

She gasped when she felt his fingers against her entrance, mechanically brushing across her folds and clitoris. Her body reacted well enough to a few more minutes of his touch, well enough for them to proceed.

“Are you still hard?” she asked.

He nodded, gently taking her legs in his hands. She spread herself wider, hands going to tug her skirt up. He pulled his trousers down, revealing the sharp rise of his hip bones, then his undergarment. He looked away as he wrapped a hand around his cock, pumping it once, before getting on his hands and knees, shifting to move above her.

She'd scarcely had time to prepare herself when he entered her, pressing into her halfway.

Her breath hitched, eyes screwing shut. Her hands balled into fists, crushing the fabric within them.

“Does it hurt?” he said quickly. “We can stop.”

She shook her head impatiently. “It doesn’t.”

“A-are you a virgin?” he asked. “I won't be rough.”

“ _I’m not_ ,” she said, as if he was stupid. “Keep going.”

He planted both hands on either side of her, sucking in a breath before he withdrew and rocked inside of her again. As he continued, he made no effort to pick up his pace, only slowly gaining a rhythm. Once or twice, a sound escaped one of them.

“How is it?” he said, the words tumbling out of him. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

She wondered, briefly, whether her saying yes would be a point of pride for him. But there was none of that in his tone.

“No, you aren’t,” Lavinia said, shutting her eyes again. “Hurry up.”

“Could you…” he said between pants, “Open your eyes? Look at me.”

She did so, eyeing him confusedly. He seemed to have a faraway look in his eyes, staring down at her. Lavinia searched his face for something to focus on, and settled on his lashes.

“Enjoying yourself?,” he said, attempting a smile.

“Will you be finished soon?” she asked.

He lowered his eyes, focusing on his task. Out of the corner of her eyes, Lavinia saw his hands had clenched into fists. He grunted and panted under his breath as his thrusts grew faster and more shallow. She let her gaze fall sideways again. Elsewhere in the room, others were gasping in pleasure, clutching each other in twos and threes. It was the kind of image plastered all over the cathedral's walls and in their holy books. Even now, the sight may as well have been ink printed on a page.

He hovered closer to her now, enough that she could feel his breath on her neck. He was saying something, muttering it to himself. One of his hands moved inward, towards one of hers, in time for her to instinctively jerk it away.

His pace increased further.

“Could you--say something?” he said, voice urgent.

She shot him a look. “Why would I?”

He shut his eyes. “I just want to hear your voice”

“Why are you acting like this?” she said, the question coming out more bewildered than she’d intended.

“Just--my name. That’s all,” he said.

“I--” She paused. “What was it?”

He shook his head, cursing to himself. “Nevermind.”

He propped himself up again, keeping his head bowed. His whole body shuddered as he moved inside her. Lavinia focused on the ceiling, trying and failing to drown out the other voices in the room. She concentrated instead on her breathing, drawing in sharp gasps through her teeth. Above her, Mariano’s thrusts grew erratic.

“Are you…” she breathed.

“Yes--” he forced out.

Lavinia shifted, adjusted her legs, and pushed out from under him. He slid out of her, his cock leaking a white string onto the floor. As he caught his breath, she was already moving to stand, slipping her belt back around her waist. He remained in place, waiting for his breathing to return to normal. As Lavinia finished tying her belt in a knot, he finally spoke.

“Did you finish?” he rasped.

She said nothing, hurrying to grab her veil. He pushed himself off the floor, knees shaking. “Can I see you again?”

“I don't know,” she mumbled, looking away, and keeping her eyes fixed there. Lavinia swept her hair back, tucking it behind her ears before slipping on her veil.

He stood fully, a look of concern passing over his features. “Have I done something wrong?”

“You were fine,” she said quickly, half to herself. “I need to go.”

With that done, she turned from him, stepping quickly towards the door. She kept her eyes straight ahead, brushing past the other worshipers. Her cheeks burned with something close to shame. But it wasn't shame, she thought. There was no reason for it.

* * *

 Domitia lingered at the doorway of Lavinia's chambers late that night, watching her as she prepared for bed.

“How was the ceremony, then?” she asked, leaning against the door frame. “Amazing, right? Nothing like it.”

Lavinia only hummed in response, removing her wimple yet again and placing it in her bedside trunk.

“What?” Domitia said. “Did you not enjoy it?”

“I did...” she said, hand still resting on the trunk's edge. She’d decided that on the way to her bedroom. “I can’t say my partner feels the same way.”

“Well that's a shame,” Domitia said. “Why d'you say that?”

Lavinia shut her trunk lid. “He...had some strange preferences.”

“What do you mean?”

“He wanted to make things...” She paused, searching for the right words. “Intimate.”

Domitia paused briefly. “Did he try to hold your hand? And ask you to say his name?”

Lavinia turned to her and nodded.

“Bit skinny? Long chin?” she continued.

“Yes to both.”

“Handsome?”

“To most,” Lavinia said. “Do you know him?"

“Not the way Brother Erland does.”

Lavinia nodded. “Ah.”

Domitia nodded in turn, satisfied that her point had come across. “Mariano’s like you, he’ll take anyone to bed. Not picky at all.”

“That's not quite how I'd put it,” Lavinia said, standing and facing her.

“Well, anyway,” Domitia said. “They met at the last ceremony. Seems Mariano has some inclinations.” She lowered her voice. “He even asked Erland to tell him he loved him.”

Lavinia shook her head in disbelief. “Can you imagine?”

“Thankfully for him, I don’t think anyone else heard.” Domitia pushed off the door frame, turning to leave. “Doesn't matter. You might get to brag about this someday.”

“What do you mean?”

Domitia faced her again. “You saw his eye didn't you? Color's starting to fade.”

“He's Marked, then. So are plenty of people. I don’t see why I should be proud of this.”

“Not just Marked,” she said. Her voice dropped, as if she was sharing a secret. “He's part of the bloodline.”

Lavinia's eyes widened briefly. “He's...not quite what I expected.”

“You, or anyone else. Let’s hope the Papa’s other sons measure up, for our sake,” she said, starting off down the hallway. “I need my rest. Good night, Lavinia.”

Before Lavinia could respond, Domitia had disappeared into the darkness, gone as quickly as a wisp of smoke.

She shut the door gingerly, locking it behind her. She stood with her back against the door, eyeing the candle flickering on her bedside table.

It was done, she thought. The ritual was done.

There would be another, soon. But for tonight, she could rest. She could rest, knowing she had fulfilled her duty.

Her hands went to the back of her neck, untying the knot of her necklace cord. She slipped it off, cradling the grucifix in her palm. She held it gingerly in both hands as she approached her bedside table, laying it down carefully.

“Dark Father,” she recited, her voice a hushed whisper. “I have worked to be worthy of your love. For that, you have granted me this day of life, and you have shown me mercy.” She drew her hands together.

“Curse those who refuse to honor you, of those who choose to remain in the dark when they have been offered fire. May the guileless be struck down, so that we may share your light with those who seek it out."

Her voice dropped further, almost to a hiss. “Deliver us from those who will draw us away from your path.” She drew in a breath, and proceeded to the final lines. “Thank you for my knowledge, and for my independence from the masses. Thank you for the kingdom that awaits us.”

Here, she faltered. But only for a moment.

“Thank you for my freedom,” she said finally.

She paused, and went to extinguish her bedside candle.


End file.
